Pulp Style Art #2

They didn’t pick this one, which I totally understand…it was by far the longest shot of them all. But I’m posting the whole thing anyway because of how proud I am of “‘A Night at the Space Opera’ by Herman O. Marks”…even though, grammatically, it ought to be hermanos, but I couldn’t figure out how to do that. So it’s Marx Brother singular, but I’m okay with that…it’s the closest I’m ever going to get to writing an official joke, which is a mysterious skill I have no real idea how to do. And probably shouldn’t even attempt, the way a plumber ought not attempt an appendectomy or something. Even though you know that situation has come up, like it used to always do on TV dramas. Oh, well, anyhow, I have three days of work to do and one day to do it in, so enough blogging…

Except, P.S.: The date should be later than 1935…I sort of screwed that bit up. I mean, I know better, from having been steeped in this junk culture stuff since my zygote days. But, anyhow, it should’ve been in the 40’s, I guess.

Words I Like

The way you drop is like a stoneMaking out you're flyingBut you've just been thrown.

—The Jesus and Mary Chain, "Drop"

There was a book in the library about Holland. There were lovely foreign names in it and pictures of strangelooking cities and ships. It made you feel so happy.

—James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

In fact, while we read a novel, we are insane—bonkers. We believe in the existence of people who aren't there, we hear their voices, we watch the Battle of Borodino with them, we may even become Napoleon. Sanity returns (in most cases) when the book is closed.

Is it any wonder that no truly respectable society has ever trusted its artists?

—Ursula K. Le Guin,Introduction,The Left Hand of Darkness

"What are my dreams?"

—Jerri Blank

Being a famous artist in the Culture meant at best it was accepted you must possess a certain gritty determination . . . .

—Iain M. Banks,Excession

"I hope you will consider what I arrange, but be skeptical of it."

—John Berger,Ways of Seeing

Some sort of pressure must exist; the artist exists because the world is not perfect. Art would be useless if the world were perfect, as man wouldn’t look for harmony but would simply live in it. Art is born out of an ill-designed world.